Eternal
by Shadewolf7
Summary: An Immortal makes a mistake and ends up in a land very different from any she has known... OC.
1. Prelude

_**Prelude**_

_I was found four thousand years ago in the deserts of Egypt. I was given unto the Temple of Mertseger and raised as a priestess for the little-known goddess._

_I was on a journey for the Head Priestess when I was little over sixteen Inundations old… the caravan was attacked by bandits. They left none alive._

_Myself included. I did not know what had happened to me when I woke among the dead and the jackals and vultures taking advantage of the free meal. It was nearly two hundred years before someone found and trained me, for I remained at the temple until the village below was deserted and remained on the mountain even after, maintaining the temple in honor of the goddess and the woman who raised me as her own._

_She named me Sa't Mertseger—Daughter of She Who Loves Silence—and the name held even after the goddess herself was long forgotten. Eventually my name was shortened to simply Sa't, Daughter. I hold to my first name still when confronted in the Game, and in my heart. Heart and soul, I never forgot the goddess to whom I had been given as a foundling child. For the sake of her and the High Priestess of the Temple, who had taken me in, I still go and pray at the temple at least once every century, though the building has long since fallen—or did. The mountain of the cobra-goddess is still home to my mind._

_In the modern age, though, I answered to the name Sharon Mercy and was called 'kid' by people four thousand years my junior. Still, it was a good life, if only one knew how to look…_

_I had a student who pretended to be my aunt, looking out for me after my parents had died, and friends—both mortal and Immortal—who were there when I needed them._

_Yes, it was a good life._

_Then everything changed._

_A young Headhunter, barely over three hundred, caught my 'scent', as it were. He stalked me, believing me to be a young, easy target. He believed Karen Lutz, my student, to be my teacher. And he challenged her._

_She was nowhere near ready to face one of his strength and skill, barely forty and less than ten of those years Immortal._

_I got there too late and he took her head near the bounds of Stonehenge, barely outside the Holy Ground._

_How _dare_ he?_

… _I should not have done as I did, but I was furious. My students were family to me, and there were precious few of them… I challenged him. He was a bare child by my standards—I had over three thousand years' experience on him, and having been challenged relatively often as I look like an easy target—and it was poor form to challenge so soon after a one completed, though not _precisely_ against the Rules…_

_I took his head, closer to the stones than his taking of Karen's, and, as the Quickening ended, stumbled into the circle._

_Oh, foolish, foolish move. On touching one of the stones, a bit of the still-settling energies sparked from my hand to ancient rock—there was a painful, wrenching jerk and I felt like I was falling…_

_xxxx_

Don't own any but a few of the characters. Settings throughout the story don't belong to me.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

The storm appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sending crackling streaks of bluish lightning ripping across unprotected ground, scorching stone and causing trees to explode into flaming shrapnel, melting lines of earth into glittering, flawed glass.

The explosion of sudden sound drew the attention of a rider not far away, and he turned his horse to investigate.

_xxxx_

Sa't opened her eyes to the odd sight of someone in clothes she hadn't seen outside a movie set or museum in a few hundred years kneeling next to her, a concerned expression on his young face.

She blinked a few times, the rest of her vision swimming into focus before hearing kicked back in and the man's voice registered. The sounds were familiar, half-remembered and little understood. She shook her head a bit, trying to clear it, when the flashback hit.

"_Form up the right flank! No, you fools—the right flank! They're behind!"_

_Arrows slashing through air and flesh, wet heat splashing over sand and stone, staining once-clean white bright crimson. Screams from men and horses, the clash of steel—the intended ambush dissolving into a bloody skirmish from which both sides fled with more wounded than well and numbers diminished greatly._

Ah. More familiar, now. Some form of Ancient Latin, touched with traces of Greek and her own mother-tongue in accent and structure.

The question came again, more urgently this time, and now she caught the words—though even without them, the meaning would have been clear enough by the boy's expression.

Sa't caught that thought and nearly snorted. The boy—by sight he probably seemed ten years her senior, at least!

"Are you well?"

She considered the question and ran a quick inventory. Head still attached, all limbs in place… some nasty internal injuries from the fall, if the tingling sparks of Quickening running through her torso were to be believed, but all in all… "Well enough." Besides which, she'd _completely_ deserved that—whatever _that_ had been.

She started to sit, but the young man firmly pushed her back with a hand on her shoulder, "nay, child, lie still. Some hurts make themselves known more slowly than others."

Sa't shook her head stubbornly and sat up despite the protests, "I am not seriously injured." For an Immortal, that was true.

"At least let me take you to shelter, little one," concern showed bright in gray eyes, "Why are you out here all alone?"

Sa't looked around at the devastation ranging about ten feet in every direction and the smoldering bits of wood scattered further beyond that. She shook her head slowly as she registered that the trees around were similar to the ones she knew, but not quite _right._ "I…" she broke off for a moment, considering how best to put it. "I was at Stonehenge… a man, he killed my…" Student? Daughter? "He killed Karen. I challenged him—I shouldn't have, not there, but I was so _angry…_" tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, and she dashed them away, the reality still harsh and cruel. Karen had been so _young…_ so bright and alive. Not yet jaded by too many years watching friends die, having to constantly be on the move before someone noticed the unnatural lack of aging.

"There was Quickening—blue lightning—it caught the stones, then…" she shook her head, "I woke up here."

Silence answered her and she chanced a look at the man's face. He seemed troubled and stood without a word, offering her a hand as he whistled sharply.

The quick thud of hooves answered and a brown horse trotted into view, head held high and tack silent. A scout or ranger of some kind, then—metal clips weren't dulled or wrapped in leather for any other reason.

"Come, little one," he instructed, "Ride my horse. My camp is not far."

Sa't nodded, suddenly far too tired to argue. _Oh, Karen…_ she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, barely noticing the tears that welled again her eyes. No matter how many times she lost someone, the hurt of losing another was never dulled.

Half an hour passed and the young man let her cry herself out without comment or question, merely offering her a handkerchief and leading the horse on.

Another twenty minutes later, after her tears had dried and their winding path had 'mysteriously' gotten much more direct, when a slight shift in the shadows above caught her attention.

She was reaching for twin katana before she realized what she was doing, drawing attention in the direction of the previously unnoticed weapons, but a quick abortion of the movement and a subtle strengthening of what Karen had jokingly called the 'Sword? What sword?' technique, and the man leading her merely blinked and seemed puzzled.

"Are you certain you are well, child?"

Sa't nodded slightly, sending a quick glance at the narrow trail before gesturing upwards. "Movement in the tree. A man, dressed like you, but carrying a bow."

Stormy eyes flickered in her direction, surprised. "A guard," he explained. "I am impressed that you noticed—few see a Ranger who does not wish to be seen."

"Among my people… awareness is survival. That lesson was hard-learned and never forgotten."

Surprise turned to something darker, sadder. "You speak with a tone of great age, little one."

Sa't considered briefly, then shrugged, moving to slide off the horse as they reached a good-sized camp.

"Ah—gently, child. I fear for your health, still. The blow to your head must have been strong for me to have found you still unconscious atop the hill."

Sa't snorted, "I do not have a concussion. Believe me, I know what they feel like by now."

"Co—con-cussion?" Puzzlement.

"When a blow to the head causes the brain to bump into the side of the skull, causing bruising," Sa't fell into lecture-tone on pure habit, "Bruises to the brain are serious, sometimes resulting in memory loss, prolonged periods of unconsciousness, coma, death, or sudden and extreme changes in behavior and personality. Each time a human gets one, it is easier to get another. I know the symptoms and have had them before—they turn me into a wicked grouch." _Until my quickening kicks in and takes care of it._

The stare she received in response to the little lecture was somewhere between amazed and confused.

Sa't shrugged slightly, "I have learned from the healers in my country."

"You have learned well," he commented, leading her between scattered tents and waving off the attention from others in the camp. "You are certain?"

"No double vision, no fuzziness, no nausea, balance is fine, I'm thinking clearly, and I'm not biting your head off. Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Biting my head off?" The incredulity that touched the repeat of her words was almost amusing.

"Forgive me, it's a figure of speech. It means I am not using angry words when I speak to you."

"Ah," he ushered her into a tent, "I shall find a spare bedroll for you. You may have this tent tonight—we will get you your own later."

_xxxx_

True to his word, by morning Strider had found her not only a tent and a bedroll, but also a horse. However, the group was not planning on moving camp for several weeks, so Sa't took to following the only person she knew, surprising him several times with her unintended stealth. Old habits were hard to break, after all.

After the second time he turned only to nearly run her over, he favored her with a bemused look. "Why do you follow me?"

"Well… you're the only one I know, and I have no idea what's where?" the comment was half question.

He shook his head slightly, a smile on his lips. The child was doing no harm, and he was certain she would not be discovered, even while scouting. He hardly knew she was there, and she had not moved more than ten paces from his side!

"Very well. I am going to go scout—you are welcome to come with me, but you must promise not to place yourself in danger."

Sa't smiled, a little sadly, "I swear to you I will not place my life in danger."

And she wouldn't—but that wasn't actually saying much, as Immortals were _damn_ hard to kill.

"Horses, then," he instructed, "We may need their speed."

Sa't nodded and turned away, testing a theory as she did, reaching out with that _twist_ of Quickening that allowed the older, more experienced Immortals to hide weapons in plain sight. And smirked at the startled gasp behind her as she appeared to simply vanish from sight.

It was… not _tiring,_ so much as awkward to hold it over her entire body as opposed to just weapons, though. And as difficult as it was when first learning the trick to hide weapons—it kept trying to slip away from her control, cracking out in random directions like the storm it would become if she died.

Perhaps it would be better to practice alone for a while.

She waited a until she was out of anyone's immediate sight and released the _twist_ of Quickening in a surprising crackle of static before going to find the horse she had been given. A battle-trained silver-gray stallion named 'Mithril', much larger than the desert horses she was accustomed to riding, with an even temperament she knew she could grow to love.

His bridle she took, easily slipping it onto his head and checking that the straps lay comfortably out of long-instilled habit, before leaping up onto his bare back.

She had been riding since before saddles in her world—it would take nothing short of full war to convince her to use one.

She made it back to the rendezvous point several minutes before Strider—apparently he had gotten over enough of his shock to fetch his own mount—and waited with all the patience of someone who had lived millennia… and all the quiet alertness of any Immortal who'd been targeted by some of the older Headhunters.

He appeared on the back of his own bay, watching her with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Sa't simply waited.

He stopped the bay in front of her and her gray, "You can… disappear?"

Sa't smiled slightly, "Not… exactly. I simply convince you that you do not see me—those old enough, confident enough in their senses… they might see me anyway." Most of the older Immortals would see weapons where no one else would.

"So, Elves would see you, but Men cannot?"

"Perhaps," Sa't stated, "Having never met an Elf… I do not know."

Strider smiled slightly at the response, "Fair enough."

_xxxx_

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that came only when great predators were on the prowl.

Strider silently signaled a halt and dismounted, Sa't following his lead, and they crept forward, leaving the horses under a particularly gnarled old tree.

It came faint, but there was sound in the distance—cracking twigs, the dull rattle of poorly-forged metal against hardened leather, the thud of booted feet striking the ground—and Strider signaled again, indicating the need for their own silence, then started making his way towards the sound at an angle, so the wind was blowing their scent away from whatever was coming.

Sa't followed, reaching up to loosen her twin katana in their scabbards.

Something told her that this could turn very ugly, and, quite frankly, she didn't want to be the only one walking away.

And then the nastiest… _things_ she had ever seen came into sight from where she and Strider crouched in low brush.

And the wind shifted.

_xxxx_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

The one in the lead stopped, raising its head sharply, sniffing at the air in grunting snorts like an animal. It began to look around, it's greenish-black skin seeming to absorb the little light filtering though the trees.

Humanoid though it was, Sa't got the distinct feeling it was more an aggressive monster than anything.

She chanced a glance at her companion and saw the grim determination in his set expression. He looked at her and spoke in a low whisper. "Do not follow."

And left their flimsy cover, drawing his sword and charging the group of maybe a score of the creatures, using what little surprise he had to get in the first blow against the apparent leader.

'Do not follow'? Though she supposed he truly did expect her to obey, she was by no means helpless and he was overmatched against so many alone, especially if they had reinforcements nearby. She had promised not to endanger her life, but—judging from the things' distinct lack of skill—she wouldn't be in danger of losing her head.

She drew her twin katana and attacked.

They were down by three before they realized the presence of a second assailant, and still were slow to respond.

Strider was a little quicker to notice, but in no position to do anything about it, surrounded as he was, and hard-pressed to keep the crude blades from his flesh.

Two more had fallen before some of them began to face Sa't properly, and their lack of skill made the ones that did easy to deal with. If they had worked together, that may not have been the case, but they were disorganized, attacking en masse without working together. Still, they were many, and she and Strider were only two.

Fewer attacked Sa't than Strider, apparently believing her to be an easier target—which she soon disproved. The ones around her fell quickly to her flashing blades, and she went to help the only person she knew in this world take care of the ones remaining.

Movement off to the side—behind Strider—caught her attention.

One they had not seen, raising a bow as crude as their other weapons with a wicked, barbed arrow knocked.

No time—she moved, knocking him aside and down, wincing as the arrow struck her low in the side of the chest and throwing one of her blades with deadly accuracy at the archer before wavering and dropping to one knee.

Already Strider was back on his feet, dispatching the remaining creatures with vicious efficiency, a sharp desperation in his moves that surprised Sa't. She had not had someone truly worry for her health in quite some time.

Of course, most of those who had seen her shot—by anything—knew she was Immortal, and Strider did not.

She took shallow breaths, struggling not to cough, feeling the damage in her chest and lung, but knowing it wasn't enough to kill, even temporarily, if she could just get the arrow out.

Unfortunately, it was barbed, and she didn't have the strength to pull it out herself.

Then Strider was kneeling in front of her, catching her shoulders and lowering her down towards the ground, eyes sharp and unhappy. "Child…"

Of course. In this type of time, a lung-shot was invariably fatal. For anyone who wasn't Immortal, anyway.

She opened her mouth to speak, and coughed blood, turning her head so as not to choke. "Get it out," Sa't managed roughly.

"Child," there was pain in that voice, "Why did you—I told you not to follow—"

Sa't gave a harsh cough, "Get it _out._"

"The arrow is both barbed and poisoned, child," Strider's voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You are dying."

Sa't very deliberately did not repeat the jaded thought to cross her mind aloud. "Please," she gasped instead, "Get it out."

There was pain in Strider's gaze, and he closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them and looking at her with a mix of determination and sadness. And he did as she asked, wrenching the barbed arrow from her flesh with brutal efficiency.

Sa't bit back a cry, her body bucking in protest before she managed to roll away from the attempt to put pressure on the wound, knowing that sparks of Quickening would soon be wiping it away. And that those selfsame sparks would burn her new friend's hands pretty badly if he touched them.

He caught her shoulder and gently forced her onto her back even as her Quickening set about healing the wound—and he froze upon seeing the blue-white sparks dancing across rent flesh.

Not that she could blame him. There was a very real possibility that she was the only Immortal in this world.

She allowed herself to cough as the wound healed, clearing blood from her lungs, forcing herself to sit and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground beside her before glancing at the amazed and wary Strider.

"You have questions…" Sa't sighed heavily, rubbing at the still-recovering wound.

He did.

"What are you?"

He almost regretted the question as she suddenly looked ancient and weary, her eyes reflecting pain and regret that cut to the core.

"We are called Immortals."

It was a simple answer that nonetheless told so very, very much.

"You are immortal?"

Sa't sighed softly, turning her deep brown eyes back to meet Strider's gaze. "If we can die of age, none of us have lived so long as to find that age. I have looked like this for over four thousand years. Watching as everything I care for withers and dies…" There was old grief in her tone, the mourning of more than just one lifetime.

"How is it you can face the ages alone, little one?" Strider asked, wonder and sadness in his voice, but before he could apologize for the thoughtless words, she laughed.

The laugh was brief, but rang clear and honest, if with a trace of bitterness. "One day at a time, Strider. One day at a time. And I have not always been alone. Not always."

There was a long pause before Strider held out a hand, "Not now, my friend."

A brief moment of shock, then Sa't face broke into a smile, "Thank you."

_xxxx_

The ride back held discussions on secrets, and Strider—Aragorn, he told her—stated that Elves made immortality not to strange a thing.

Well, that explained why he'd taken it so well.

Sa't shrugged, "My kind… make it a practice in my world to keep our immortality secret. We are… believed to be myths, if thought of at all. There are only our kind immortal in my world, and others either wish to take that immortality from us to make it their own, or destroy us all. People fear that which they do not understand."

Strider seemed to consider that for a few moments before he nodded acknowledgment.

"Still…" Sa't shook her head wearily, "I will trust your judgment, my friend. I know nothing of your world."

Then they neared the first guard, who scrambled out of his tree on sight of their dishevelment.

"Strider! What happened?"

"Orcs, less than two miles east. We will need to send out a party to ensure than none escaped."

The man nodded sharply, turning to whistle a short, birdlike tune.

In moments another rider came up the trail, his eyes immediately falling on Strider, then flicking past him to Sa't, who had just raised a hand to rub at an itch where drying blood still clung to her skin.

"Is the child all right?" he asked, alarmed.

"From what I understand of her people, she is not a child," Aragon said dryly, "Her people heal quickly. The wound bled only for a short while."

Sa't glanced at him. All statements were true, but evasive. He was keeping her secrets for her, though she had told him he could tell what he wished. He knew she was uncomfortable with many knowing, so he was evading the questions.

She was grateful for that.

"I am well, truly," she spoke up, smiling wanly. "Merely weary."

Strider nodded agreement to that sentiment. The fight, while it had not lasted more than twenty minutes, had been tiring in the extreme. "An orc party, a little over a score two miles to the east. We need to send out a group to ensure that none escaped."

Eyes widened slightly in surprise, flicking between the two. "Over a score?"

"I'm not quite as helpless as I look," Sa't murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

Strider shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed not," he suppressed a grin at the looks sent Sa't's way. "If not for her skills, I would have died. Nevertheless, there may have been some survivors."

The men nodded, getting back into a more professional mode. The rider turned his horse, "I will get together a hunting party, Strider, and send for healing supplies."

"Thank you."

The rider set out at a fast canter towards the nearby camp even as the other climbed back up his tree, and Aragorn nodded thanks before urging his bay back into a walk, Mithril following to the left and slightly behind, placid as a gelding.

_xxxx_

"What troubles you?" Sa't asked as the two made their way into the camp proper, absently flicking her hair out of her face.

Strider shot her a surprised glance before shaking his head slightly, "You see much, little one. Orcs do not usually gather in such numbers so far from Mordor. Though vicious, they are cowardly creatures that do not work well together—they must have a reason for coming in force."

"I see the problem," Sa't murmured thoughtfully, leaving the question of 'Mordor' for another time. "What could cause them to act in such a way?"

The Ranger shook his head, "I do not know. Unless something stirs in the East…"

"Well," Sa't turned to practicality, "Is there someone who would know?"

"The Istari would know," he sounded sure of that, "And likely Lord Elrond in Rivendell. But the Wizards are hard to find and Rivendell is a fortnight's ride hence, pushing the horses."

"Is it worth going to find out?"

He glanced at her again, then smiled. "Yes, it is."

Eyes sparked with a long-forgotten lust for adventure, "Then let's go!"

_xxxx_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

It wasn't quite so simple as 'just going', but within two weeks, arrangements had been made and the two were on their way, Mithril and Ronan—Aragorn's horse—packed with provisions and Sa't reluctantly submitting to a saddle.

"Oh, stop heckling me with your eyes, boy. I've been riding without a saddle for four thousand years. You can't expect me to be happy about having to use one now."

Aragorn laughed, "You sound like an Elf, little one."

Sa't shook her head, "Elves. What next? I still can't get over the fact that myths in my world are common knowledge here."

"I cannot imagine a world such as you describe," Aragorn admitted, shaking his head. "It sounds both wondrous and terrible."

"It is," Sa't murmured. "The pyramids, while impressive now, were truly beautiful, once. Egypt flourished under the Inundations of the Nile, and there was peace in the land."

"But the world changes, and changes quickly. Egypt now is not what it was then; in my childhood. Mertseger is long forgotten. Wsyret, Wsyr, and R' mentioned only in history books and as myth and legend, not even under their proper names. The journals I wrote in my youth… placed on display, pieces of my life open for any with the knowledge to read. It is…"

Sa't closed her eyes, trusting Mithril to find his own way, "You must understand, Aragorn… my kind do not live together. We do not… congregate, but for the Gathering. And the Gathering…" she shook her head, unwilling to speak of it, "We are foundlings, all. No one knows where we come from. We are merely found and taken in by mortal families."

"And mortals die."

She missed the wince, as she had not yet opened her eyes, "We watch as everything around us ages and dies, over and over."

"The closer we become, the more it hurts when the ones we love are taken away."

"But to live alone… is to invite madness." Sa't's eyes opened, and she smiled bitterly, "We may be Immortals, but we are human, still. And humans… were not meant to live forever."

She fell silent for a time, and Strider risked a question. "Is it worth it?"

Sa't laughed, "Ai," she shook her head slightly, "Long have I known this truth: It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Is it worth it, you ask?"

"If I could go back, knowing the outcome, to the moment I first met Karen—the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter—I would not change the choice I made to take her in. I would not change a moment of my time with her, even knowing." Sa't smiled, and though her eyes held grief and a little bitterness, there was an honesty in them he could not tear his gaze from, "Is it worth it? That is something for each to decide on their own. But for me, yes. Always. It is worth it."

There was silence for a long time after that, before he chanced another question.

"What do you mean, 'the closest thing you will ever have to a daughter'?" He immediately regretted asking, "Forgive me—I should not have-"

"Iie, my kind cannot have children. As I said; no one knows where we come from. We are simply found and taken in… usually. There are times when a Pre-Immortal grows up on the streets, but that is thankfully rare."

Aragorn nodded, not pursuing the line of questioning that could potentially prove painful. "Children are rare among the Eldar, due to their immortality."

Sa't gave a short bark of laughter, "I always thought the lack of children was the price of our Immortality. But… how my kind exists at all, I cannot fathom. It is not _few_ children, Strider—it is _no_ children."

He shook his head slightly, equally baffled. "I cannot tell you."

"So," Sa't changed the topic abruptly, proving that it did indeed sting, if only a little, "Tell me of your world. Where are we?"

"This part of the land is known as The Wilds…"

_xxxx_

For the most part, their time spent travelling was peaceful—even boring. Sa't soon found herself falling back into her habit of humming to herself, something she had often done while working, even as a child.

Aragorn, curious, prompted her to sing.

So she did.

_Looking back at the beginning of this  
and how life was  
Just you and me and love and all of our friends  
Living life like an ocean_

But now the current's only pulling me down  
It's getting harder to breathe  
It won't be too long and I'll be going under  
Can you save me from this?

'Cause it's not my time, I'm not going  
There's a fear in me and it's not showing  
This could be the end of me  
and everything I know, ooh, but I won't go.

I look ahead to all the plans that we made,  
And the dreams that we had,  
I'm in a world that tries to take them away,  
Oh, but I'm taking them back

'Cause all this time I've just been too blind to understand  
what should matter to me  
My friend, this life we live, it's not what we have  
It's what we believe

It's not my time, I'm not going  
There's a fear in me, it's not showing  
This could be the end of me,  
and everything I know

But it's not my time, I'm not going,  
There's a will in me and now I know that  
This could be the end of me  
and everything I know, ooh, but I won't go.  
I won't go!

There might be more than you believe,  
There might be more than you can see…

But it's not my time, I'm not going,  
There's a fear in me, but it's not showing  
This could be the end of me  
and everything I know.

But it's not my time, I'm not going  
there's a will in me and now it's gonna show,  
This could be the end of me,  
And everything I know

There might be more than you believe  
And there might be more than you can see…  
But I won't go, oh no I won't go…

_(Not My Time by 3 Doors Down)_

Sa't let the song die, struggling to keep back the emotion. That had been one of Karen's favorites, and strangely fitting for her current situation.

"Forgive me," Aragorn's voice broke through her half-reverie. "I did not mean to cause you grief."

Sa't shook her head, "Not you. Not even the song… not truly. Though it was one of Karen's favorites… defiant to the end. 'This could be the end of me," she translated for his benefit. "'and everything I know. But I won't go.'" She sighed, "But for all the defiance in the song… there isn't much in me right now. I'm _tired_ of living this life, of losing everything I care for."

Gray eyes glanced to her in sharp alarm.

"Not precisely what I meant," she murmured in response to the look. "I do not fear the Final Death… but nor do I seek it."

Alarm changed to puzzlement, "Final Death?"

"Ah…" Sa't murmured, "I'd forgotten I haven't explained."

So she began, telling him of her brand of Immortality, of the First Death and what it meant. Of the Game and the Gathering.

When she finally finished, he was staring at her in something that could very well have been called horror.

"That is…"

Sa't shook her head as he trailed off, "Barbaric, among other things," she agreed, "but enough believe to make it impossible to ignore. Both my teacher and my student fell to The Game." She added sadly, "Most do, as it is… _difficult_ to kill us by accident."

"How can your people _live_ like that?"

"… There are those who believe in it," Sa't admitted, "and those who simply use it as an excuse to kill. Enough that those of us who would live otherwise… have no choice if we do not wish to be bound to Holy Ground." She sighed, shook her head, "I avoid The Game when I can and there are many others like me, but… sometimes we are given no choice if we are to protect the ones we love. Headhunters don't care who gets hurt along the way, so long as they can get their next Quickening."

Aragorn shook his head in disgusted wonder, "That is… a travesty of life for your people."

"I know," Sa't sighed again, shifting slightly in her saddle, "and I have done my best to change it where I can, but The Game is older than I, older and far more deeply rooted. It has taken much from me, and I would see it ended if I could, but… My people answer to no law but that of The Game. We have no ruler, answering only to ourselves and our own honor. Though it is a terrible thing, The Game _rules_ my people. I cannot change this; certainly not from here."

"I begin to understand your skill with your blades," Aragorn stated wryly.

"It was needed," Sat nodded once, "Now… tell me of the Elves you are taking me to see?"

Aragorn didn't protest the change of topic, instead regaling her with tales of his youth in Rivendell.

Sa't let the words wash over her, grateful for the lighter turn of conversation, listening as her new friend described a people of great beauty and wisdom, a city of wonders such as was only found in fairy-tales on Earth.

And she smiled.

_xxxx_

_First time I've ever put an entire song in something that's not a songfic. I was in a _mood._ Anyway, I'm hoping it doesn't ruin this chapter… leaving it in because it triggered part of the chapter, and I wasn't entirely sure how to go about changing it. Anyway, see you guys later, and Merry… whatever holiday you celebrate._


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

"Whoa!"

Strider reigned Ronan around at the startled exclamation and following thud, something catching in his chest as he sighted the little one on the ground near Mithril's still hooves, the horse having halted when his rider fell.

He dismounted quickly, moving to kneel next to her, all but forgetting her healing ability.

She stirred, opening her eyes with a slight grimace.

"Lie still, little one," he ordered, already back in the mindset of a healer.

"I'm fine," she brushed off his concern, sitting despite his initial protest. "Except for the blow to my pride—talk about embarrassing."

"What happened?"

Sa't blushed a bit, grimacing. "Mithril tripped and I wasn't paying attention."

"So you simply fell?" Strider sat back on his heels, mildly surprised.

"Pretty much, yeah," Sa't admitted sheepishly.

"You are fortunate to be unharmed," he informed her, "I have had good Men killed from lesser falls."

There was a moment in which Sa't had a brief flashback to a ride with a human friend that had ended with that friend's death.

"As have I," she stated finally, standing and brushing herself off, Strider following suit, "… but a fall could not kill me. Or," she amended, "not permanently."

Aragorn hesitated briefly, shaking his head, "I… cannot bring myself to believe that," he murmured, before catching himself. "I do not doubt your truthfulness," he hurried to assure, "but such a thing…"

"Is so far beyond your realm of experience that you just can't quite believe it," Sa't finished for him. "I understand. Although, knowing my luck, you'll get to witness it firsthand."

He winced, "Please do not say such things."

Sa't blinked, then shook her head, "Forgive me. My words were thoughtless…" she paused, tilting her head, "Do you hear something?"

Aragorn went into Ranger-mode immediately, listening hard. "Yes," he agreed quietly, "Horses."

"Perhaps we should meet their riders on equal standing?"

He nodded, moving over to mount Ronan, Sa't climbing into Mithril's saddle more slowly, frowning pensively.

"Is something wrong?"

Sa't glanced over to Aragorn and offered a small smile, "Just… memories, Strider. Thoughts of times past."

He nodded, understanding. Growing up with the Elves, he had noticed some of them get lost in memory when something sparked a thought—and she had only recently lost someone very dear to her. It was only to be expected that she would grow quiet at times. He reined Ronan around carefully, keeping an eye out to make sure Sa't was following.

Mithril fell into his customary position to the left and slightly behind Ronan, Sa't's eyes distant and sad, and the two headed towards the other horses at a gentle walk.

"They are Elvish horses," Aragorn realized aloud, surprised.

Sa't blinked at the sudden declaration, shaking her head briefly before focusing on Strider. "Really?"

He nodded once, "Two," he glanced at her sideways, frowning, "It is rare for Elves to venture into the Wilds with so few. I only know two who do so often…"

Sa't titled her head inquisitively at the odd mix of emotion in his eyes. "Oh?" she prompted.

"My foster-brothers, Elladan and Elrohir," he stated, shaking his head with a mix of fondness and sadness, "They hunt Orcs nearly all the time since their mother sailed for the Undying Lands."

"Hate is a powerful emotion," Sa't said softly before falling silent as the two rode into view—mirror images of ethereal beauty.

"Estel!" one of them called, sounding surprised before surprise turned to delight. "Estel! It is you!"

Sa't hid a smile as Strider—apparently also called 'Estel'—dismounted even as the obvious twins did as well, meeting them in a strong embrace, hanging back herself to allow them to have their reunion.

"And who is this you have with you?" one of them asked as he pulled back. "A child?"

"It's not my fault I'm short," Sa't grumped, sliding off Mithril's back, "Sa't Mertseger, at your service."

Aragorn turned to her, eyes sparkling with mirth at her comment and joy at seeing his brothers again, "Sa't, these are my foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir."

"A pleasure," they murmured in nearly perfect unison.

Sa't examined them and hid a smirk. The differences in physical appearance were minute, but there. Four thousand years and some time working as a police detective gave her an eye for detail.

"I'm sure," she replied, allowing a hint of dryness to creep into her voice. "Twins. Not just twins, but _identical_ twins. I'm sensing trouble of the pranking kind."

"Estel!" One of them turned to Aragorn with a resentful look on his face, "Have you been telling tales of us to your young friend?"

He managed to keep a straight face—impressive, as Sa't knew he had to have found the 'young friend' comment amusing. "I have not."

"He hardly needed to," Sa't elaborated, "I've known too many sets of identical twins in my time."

"Really?" Aragorn turned to glance at her, curious. He knew her age and of Karen and the Game, but little else of her life. "How many?"

"Ah… thirty or so sets. Only one of those sets didn't turn to practical jokes at one point or another. Most of those were from a distance, mind—children of children of friends, usually," her voice turned wistful, "I grew to care for them, yet always… always they died."

"Ah, little one," he realized the memories he had stirred were bittersweet, "I—"

"Don't say you're sorry."

He blinked, his twin foster brothers careful to stay out of the conversation, though they had many questions.

"It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all," she quoted. "Though their deaths caused me grief… I am the better for having had the chance to watch over them. Better for knowing those I did."

He nodded slowly, beginning to understand. "Yet I wish you had not faced the life you have had."

That startled a laugh out of her, "Ai, I admit that sometimes I have wished the same thing. My people… as a whole, are neither gentle nor kind. But one cannot know joy without having known pain… and I have few regrets. I regret… that those friends of mine in my world will think me dead. I regret having caused them that pain, but… they are safer with me here."

"From what you have told me of your world and your people," Aragorn stated dryly, "So are you."

Sa't dipped her head, acknowledging the point, before turning her attention to the clearly antsy and confused twins. "I believe your brothers have questions," she observed clinically.

"Who are you?"

Sa't straightened before taking a step forward and giving a formal bow from her homeland. "Sa't Mertseger, Daughter of She Who Loves Silence, Goddess of the Mountain."

"Where are you from?" The other asked, though her answer had raised even more questions than it answered.

"Earth—which is, to all appearances, an alternate dimension."

Puzzlement flashed through grey eyes.

"Can we save the physics lesson for later?" Sa't asked, suddenly sounding weary, "We had best get moving. I will answer your questions as we ride. But first," something strangely humorous flashed in her eyes. "Which of you is which?"

_xxxx_

_Hi! I live!_

_Beta? Anyone? I'd be more reliable about getting chapters up with someone pestering me._


	6. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

_The broadsword flashed down, slashing across undefended flesh. There was a spray of blood and flesh, shards of bone._

"Karen!_" Too late—too late!_

Rage.

"_Challenge."_

"_Accepted." The other smirked, sure of his victory. "Johanas."_

_An answering smirk, full of hate and ancient knowledge. "Sa't Mertseger, Daughter of She Who Loves Silence."_

_A glimmer of uncertainty in the other's eyes._

_She cut him down._

_xxxx_

She was awake without more than a heartbeat's warning, startling the twin on watch. She glanced at him, then away—not willing to let him see her tears.

She stood, settling her blades in their customary position before moving off into the edge of the woods. She needed to clear her mind.

Blades flashed in the moonlight, the near-silent steps of a pattern dance coming with ease, comforting. Familiar.

Quick, flowing, easy. Easy… parry, strike, evade, spin, strike. Faster.

Sidestep, half-step, back and strike. Faster.

Stop.

Flick the blades to remove the blood, though today there was none, sheathe.

Breathe.

And she was at peace with herself again, though sad.

And Elladan was staring at her.

She ignored the stare and went into a simple tai-chi kata to cool down, though it wasn't precisely necessary. The buildup of acid that caused the sore stiffness was viewed as just another damaging substance by her Quickening, after all. Still, it was relaxing, and no matter how brief, the soreness would leave behind a sense of weariness that left her sluggish and irritable.

As soon as she was satisfied with her cooldown, Sa't returned to the campsite and settled in to stare at the fire from a slight distance, knowing that there would be no more sleep for her that night.

Elladan was still staring at her.

She sighed, glancing in his direction, knowing her melancholy must be reflected in her eyes. "If you wish to sleep… I will take watch the rest of the night."

He frowned slightly, "I am aware that your people are similar to the Elves in some ways," he said slowly,  
"but even Elven children need more rest than that."

Sa't blinked. The way that her Immortality had been explained was incomplete at best, when directed to the twins. She had not been in the mood to explain and Aragorn had not pressed her too, knowing she would explain in full to his foster-father once they reached Rivendell.

"I am older than I look, Elladan," she said gently, not really wanting to explain Immortals to the Elf when she simply wanted to be alone with her thoughts. "No longer a child by my people's standards." No, she was what was considered an Ancient. But that was something to be said at another time.

Elladan's frown deepened, "Child…"

Sa't shook her head slightly, a sad smile on her lips. "I need less rest than most," she admitted. "My people's healing… wipes away the weariness of the body. While the mind still needs rest, I will find no more sleep tonight."

He did not seem convinced, but subsided, settling to watch the darkness. "I will keep my watch," he informed after a moment, "Elves need less rest then Men."

She nodded, but said nothing, watching the flames and letting some of the happier memories of her time with Karen creep into her mind. Times camping, making up tales and recounting pieces of her past for her young student.

The silence stretched long, before she heard a change in Aragorn's breathing.

Concerned on not seeing her in her bedroll—which was directly across the fire from his—he sat up and looked around. "Sa't?" he asked.

She glanced at him, noting that Elrohir had also awoken.

"… Karen," she admitted, knowing that Aragorn would understand well enough from what she had told him.

"The nightmare again?" he half-asked, half-stated. "I had hoped it had left you."

"It has become less frequent," Sa't sighed, "But… it will never truly leave. Not that."

"What nightmare?" Elrohir asked, curiosity and concern in his voice. He had not been awake long enough to know not to ask.

Sa't did not look up, though she edged closer to the fire in an attempt to ward off the chill in her soul. She let the flashback come, forced herself to watch Karen's death again, the slumping of her student's _(daughter's)_ headless body even as she arrived.

Elrohir regretted asking before she even spoke, seeing the horror, rage, and grief flashing though her eyes.

"I was too late."

The two Elves started at her voice, having not expected her to speak after seeing the look in her eyes.

"She was my daughter in all but blood," Sa't continued, voice soft, weary. "Too young to take on the Headhunter that found us. But he _did_ find us… her. Alone. I tried to get to them before…" she let the sentence die unfinished.

"I was too late. I got there just in time to see my only child beheaded," her voice turned dark. "I should not have done as I did. He would have sought me out soon enough, and it is considered poor form to initiate a challenge so soon after one has ended."

"But he'd killed her. She had only been ten years among our kind, knowing who and what she was. A child. And he killed her."

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged glances before chancing a look at their foster brother, who had a darkly sad look on his face. He had heard this before.

"Anger does not begin to describe the rage I felt. And… compared to me… _he_ was the child. Barely three hundred." She shook her head, "But he'd killed so many. So very, very many."

"In some ways… it is better that he killed Karen," she whispered harshly. "If she had won… if he had been her first kill…" Sa't trembled with suppressed emotion, "His Quickening would have overwhelmed her. She was not sure enough in her sense of self… she would have been lost to what he had been. Turned Dark. And… I could not have borne having to kill her myself."

Aragorn glanced up sharply, then he remembered what she had told him of her people as a whole.

"Of course," he murmured, understanding dawning on him. "His memory would have been stronger than hers."

Sa't closed her eyes briefly, "Yes. But not stronger than mine."

"How old _are_ you?"

Strider immediately intervened, seeing the strange flatness in her eyes that spoke of a slight 'flashback' as she called them. "Forgive him," he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping he wouldn't get it cut off from the presumption, giving her a light shake. "He does not know of your people."

Though puzzled, Elrohir apologized even as Sa't gaze snapped back into focus. "I did not mean to offend."

Sa't sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Iie. It is…"

Aragorn stepped in again upon seeing her reluctance, "That question is considered a threat amongst her people."

Sa't nodded, "Very much so. A death-threat. But here… I suppose it does not matter. I am…" there was a slight hesitation as she calculated—the Egyptians had had a reliable calendar. "Four thousand, two hundred and thirty-two." A pause. "I think."

"Truly not a child," Elladan murmured.

She sighed, dark eyes turning back to the dancing flames. "It has been long… long since I have been in a world as peaceful as this."

"You were shot not two weeks ago facing orcs and you name our world peaceful?"

"Your world is not men facing men in battles where thousands die in a single night. Your world does not have weapons that lay waste to cities in the blink of an eye. Your world does not have soldiers who…" Sa't bit back her words, unwilling to speak of it to people who were raised so gently.

"Who…?"

Sa't shook her head. "It is… a thing too terrible to speak of." Let them imagine their worst. It could not compare to the reality.

Aragorn shook his head as the other twin opened his mouth to press, "She has told me… bits and pieces of her world," he confided. "And… much of what she spoke of was truly terrible… that she refuses to speak of this…"

"Your people are too gentle to conceive the horrors wrought by mere children in my world."

Sa't turned her attention to the steady glow of the coals, where flames had sometime since died out. "They were only children," she repeated, more to herself than her companions.

And she said no more after that.

"Let her be," Aragorn murmured to his brothers, eyeing the little one he was beginning to see as a sister. "She will speak no more of it tonight."

_xxxx_

Lost in dark thoughts, Sa't refused to speak the next morning, murmuring in her own mother-tongue to Mithril as she tightened the cinch, but otherwise silent.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head as he saddled Ronan, his brothers looking slightly guilty as they checked the harnesses on their own steel-grey mounts.

Sa't's hands tightened briefly on leather before she mounted in a single, fluid movement.

The other three soon followed suit and Sa't followed in her dark silence for some time. Then they passed under thicker trees and her mood lightened somewhat. She began actually looking around at where they were, listening to birdsong in the canopy overhead.

"Sa't?" Aragorn asked eventually, not really expecting an answer.

"Hai?" she replied softly, sounding subdued and weary.

Aragorn turned to look at her, mildly surprised at the response. "Are you well, little one?"

"Just…" she trailed off for several moments, searching for the correct word, "_tired,_ I suppose."

"We can rest," Elrohir offered worriedly.

Sa't shook her head, "No, not that kind of tired. World-weary. Remembering things best left forgotten."

"You wish to keep moving?" Aragorn asked.

"Hai," Sa't confirmed, "It is… a distraction from my thoughts."

The twins understood that and they kept moving with no more protests.

"Would it help to speak of it?" Elladan asked after a few minutes.

Sa't considered that. "Perhaps… but it is not something best spoken of to those raised in a world where good and evil are so simple. You… would not understand."

Aragorn did not protest that, having found much of what she had told him baffling and knowing the truth of her words.

The twins, on the other hand…

"We understand more than you think, little one."

Sa't sighed. "What you do not realize… is that I draw comfort from the fact that you do not understand. That you _cannot_ understand the ways of the world I come from."

"Orcs and their like, undead and demons—these things are evil. Men are sometimes foolish, sometimes greedy, sometimes ally themselves with that darkness… but the race of Men is not evil. The Elves and Dwarves—no matter how irritating you may find each other—are not evil. You know this."

Sa't sighed, "You _understand_ this."

"But the way of this world… is not the way of my world. In my world, there _are_ no orcs, no undead, no demons. No giant spiders that are nothing but killing hunger."

Upon Sa't's pause, Elrohir prompted her with "That does not sound as though your world is so terrible."

She smirked mirthlessly. "The lines of good and evil are not so clearly drawn in my world."

"What do you mean?"

Sa't sighed again, "In my world… it is said 'evil comes disguised'. And in my world, it is true."

Aragorn gave a slightly worried frown, glancing between Sa't and his brothers, not certain he _wanted_ to know what she meant.

Elladan, too, frowned, but his was a puzzled expression. "What do you mean, little one?"

Sa't closed her eyes, trusting Mithril to follow Ronan as he had the past uncounted miles. "There are weapons that lay waste to cities in the blink of an eye, leave the land blighted for millennia to follow. Weapons that were used against civilians, those not trained in the ways of war."

A breath, "Weapons used by Men against Men. Mine is a war-ravaged world, filled with discontent and hatred. Men slay men, sons kill their fathers, mothers their children. There are places and times of peace, but always, war comes again… and brother turns on brother."

A smile, small and bitter, "Too often, have I seen what is left behind. No, you cannot understand my world, for it is something you cannot even begin to imagine. Could you see yourselves fighting—_truly_ fighting? To the death? I have seen twins as close as you appear to be turn on each other, one killing the other before turning his weapon on himself in revulsion."

She glanced at their faces, smiled again at the unveiled horror on their faces.

"You begin to see," she observed. "Do you wish me to continue? I could. I could tell you of a healer-man who slaughtered women and children for nothing more than his own twisted pleasure—a man no one suspected of such a thing. I could tell you of a woman gone mad with hate who drowned her own children, then killed herself when she realized what she'd done. More. Four thousand years of such atrocities, growing greater in number and horror with each century passed. Not every crime came of war."

"Sa't," Aragorn's voice was quietly reproving.

Her bitterness faded, a breath, and there was sadness in her eyes. "Forgive me. I grow jaded, at times. My faith in mankind… falters."

They understood, a little, as to why.

_xxxx_

_I was in a bit of a _mood._ Can you tell? And I've got a lung infection that has me downright cranky. That aside, I'm doing all right, and trying to get back into writing—but didn't really want to turn any of the other ones overly bitter._


	7. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

The twins soon learned what Aragorn already knew—that, when _properly_ prompted, Sa't's tales were not all of despair and death.

There were lighter stories as well, from memorized 'fairy tales' to remembered happenings. It was not a full day before Sa't's foul mood had dissipated, and she exchanged legend and lore of her own world with her travelling companions' tales from the world she was now a part of.

Time passed much more quickly with the lightened mood, and Sa't was surprised to find they were nearing their destination.

By the next morning, they were crossing the last river between them and the place her companions had called 'Imladris' or 'Rivendell'.

_xxxx_

Her first sight was being (not at all) subtly observed by the three males, and Sa't didn't give nearly so much reaction as she knew they were hoping for.

She _knew_, after all, that she was being watched—and she had seen much in her time. This was no great shock, though it was beautiful. She allowed herself a small smile as she observed the way white stone mingled with green leaves and showering waterfalls—truly beautiful.

She glanced at the slightly disappointed boys and her smile broadened, "It's beautiful."

Aragorn smiled in return and the twins offered something like smirks.

Sa't shook her head, "Take me to your foster-father, oh Fearless Leader."

Aragorn did a slight double-take at the form of address and decided not to ask, urging Ronan ahead down the trail.

Sa't and the twins followed.

_xxxx_

As the small group passed the gate's arch, one of the Elves who had been standing guard turned and ran for the main complex and the other greeted them with something between surprise and… happiness? mingled with light confusion for Sa't herself.

Aragorn and the twins dismounted as two Elves came towards them from a building that looked like a very nice stable, so Sa't followed suit, bowing slightly to the one who took Mithril's reins in thanks.

And someone came sweeping down the staircase of the apparent main building, not running but clearly in something like haste, mingled joy and trepidation in his eyes upon sighting the group before him.

The twins were the first to move after the one who was clearly their father hesitated at the base of the stairs, taking a couple hesitant steps closer.

And the Elf-Lord spread his arms slightly, inviting them in.

Sa't smiled as the twins went to hug their father, remembering a quiet conversation that the two had carried in a language very similar to a combination of Finnish and Old Welsh. They had been uncertain as to how welcoming said father would be after their sneaking out without telling anyone.

A few quick words were exchanged in that light, flowing language and Sa't's smile turned into a light smirk—they hadn't gotten out of a tongue-lashing, it was just going to come later, from what she had understood.

Aragorn was next, taking a step forward while Sa't hung back. He bowed slightly, greeting his foster-father in that half-understood language.

He was greeted in return, the warmth underlined with concern and slight wariness.

Sa't _almost_ shook her head at how obviously these Elves broadcast their emotions. Immortals in her world learned quickly _not_ to do that.

Then he turned to her, "And who is this?" he asked, curiosity in voice and eyes.

Aragorn turned to introduce her, but Sa't forestalled him by taking a single step forward and bowing the way she would have to the Priestesses in her Mother's temple—formal, but as to an equal. "Sa't Mertseger, Daughter of She Who Loves Silence, Goddess of the Mountain."

An eyebrow raised questioningly and the Elf-Lord's head turned to glance at those with whom she had arrived.

Aragorn stepped in smoothly, "It is a tale best told in private."

Sa't gave a short nod, grateful that he only intended his family to find out, for now. "Domo arigatō," she said quietly.

Puzzlement flashed through grey eyes, but Aragorn remembered having heard that before and nodded.

Deciding that was a question for later, the Elf-Lord finally introduced himself properly before turning to lead the way into the building.

They encountered a golden-harried Elf on the way to wherever they were going, and that Elf's eyes widened at the sight of their group and he took a quick step in their direction before hesitating, glancing questioningly at Lord Elrond.

Elrond turned towards Aragorn, quirking an eyebrow, and Aragorn, in turn, glanced to Sa't.

Sat closed her eyes briefly, but she could see that Aragorn trusted the stranger and nodded.

"I see," Elrond murmured quietly before turning to the golden-haired stranger. "This is Sa't Mertseger," he stumbled slightly over the strange pronunciation. "Sa't, this is Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin."

Sa't turned and offered the equal-bow, "A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Come, I am curious as to your tale, young one."

Sa't repressed the urge to snort and saw those who had traveled with her were having similar responses, but followed as he led the way into what was quite possibly the nicest office Sa't had ever seen.

Elrond gestured for them to take seats, but Sa't remained standing as the others settled.

Elrond did not comment on that choice, "Why is it that you are here, child?"

Sa't took the opening. "I am older than I appear, much the way your people are. I am from another world, and my people are called Immortals…"

_xxxx_

Sa't told them her childhood and her First Death, her training, her people. Her Goddess, her Mother. She glossed over some of the horrors she had lived through, told of what it meant to live a life, unaging, amongst Mortals.

She told of watching the world around her change, and knowing that any of her own people were more likely to try and kill her than befriend her.

The Elves were clearly horrified at the description of The Game that ruled her people and equally horrified that she had lived completely amongst mortals for the majority of her four-thousand-plus years, watching friends age and die while she remained unchanging.

She told of finding Karen, confused after she had been killed in a hit-and-run accident, taking her in and teaching her, of the ten years her student, the closest thing she would ever have to a child, had spent with her.

Of her last day in her own dimension, of Karen's death and her subsequent challenge of her daughter's killer. She didn't bother to hide her tears at the thought of her child, and finished with meeting Aragorn before gesturing to him to take over, mentally exhausted.

Aragorn gave a quick recap as to what had happened since meeting her, perhaps emphasizing her skill with her blades and her saving his life, but not exaggerating.

At the end of it, there was a long silence.

They believed her, that much was clear, but there was great sadness for her—and pity.

Sa't felt the stirrings of anger at the pity.

"How could you live such a life?" Glorfindel asked after the silence had stretched.

Sa't smirked, a trace of bitterness in the expression, "What choice did I have? Immortal I may be, but I am still of what you call the Race of Men. To live alone is to invite madness. I have seen those who tried to avoid mortals to avoid the pain of loss. I refused to become that. Better grief than that. As for the other…

"Again, what choice? To allow my memories, my skills to fall into the hands of one who would use them only to kill? No. I fight with all I have, if only to avoid that."

When put that way…

"I see."

"But I am not the true reason that we came."

Concern returned to grey eyes.

_xxxx_

_Hey all—this is not, in fact, the only story that was close to an update. I'm hoping to have the rest of the chapter for 'The Price of the Future' finished soon, as well as the next chapter in 'Shifting Times'. If any of you have read 'Better off Forgotten' I could use reading suggestions for both its fandoms, as I'm trying to get the third chapter properly started._

'_Pending' and 'A Taste of the Supernatural' are undergoing revision, but will also be updated when I finish revising. 'Starlight in Shadows' I don't really know what to do with at the moment, so it is on hold, possibly to be either seriously revised or discontinued. I have yet to decide._

_All my HP stories are still in-progress, two of the three nearing updates. 'Silver Drake' has the next chapter about halfway finished, although I am struggling with that one, as my main source of inspiration for it were my puppy and my horse. The puppy is still missing and my horse died relatively recently._

'_X-Over' will be updated within two weeks._

_That's all I can think of for the moment—oh. 'Crash Consequences' next chapter has been written for a while, but neither Tume or I actually like what we've got and we're seriously considering scrapping it and starting over. Any input on any/all stories is welcome._


	8. Chapter 7

_This is proof that I'm still alive. I haven't had a lot of time, lately, but I'm trying to get chapters out for most of my stories soon. Can't make any promises-life's been a little time-crunched and Internet is hard to come by._

_Chapter 7_

"That is…" Elrond paused, seemingly searching for what word to use, "troubling."

Sa't supressed the urge to snort. _Troubling?_ No, _really?_

Ah. _That's_ where her sarcasm had gone.

"From what I understand," Sa't said aloud, "Orcs are… how shall I say? Prone to fighting amongst themselves. They are also cowardly, yes?"

Nods all around.

"So, logically, they should not attack unless they outnumber their opponents, and they should not be in larger groups unless something is _forcing _them to be."

Nods again, slightly wary excepting Aragorn.

"What we came for, was an answer to this question: What do they fear enough to work together?"

"Souron," Glorfindel answered promptly.

"And could that be our answer?"

Glorfindel and Elrond exchanged glances as the Twins did the same.

"I surely hope not."

Sa't flicked her gaze from one to another before she returned her attention to Aragorn, "Dare I ask?"

For that, she got an abbreviated history of Souron the Deciever.

_xxxx_

At the end of the minor Middle Earth history lesson, Sa't sighed. "Though I hate to be the one to say this, Souron not only matches the criteria, he seems to be the _only_ one who does. Where does that leave us?"

"We must call a council," Elrond stated finally. "The people of Middle Earth must be warned."

_xxxx_

Not three days later, an Istari appeared and was introduced to Sa't as 'Gandalf the Grey'. An Istari. The translation of that word turned out to be 'Wizard', and Sa't grimaced at the memory of the few Earth-based magics she knew of.

At least the Wizards of Middle Earth were supposed to be good, she reflected as she told a shortened version of her story to the bearded man. And Aragorn trusted this one, which was a good sign.

"I see," he murmured when she finished.

She shook her head at the speculative gleam in his eye, "Part of me wishes to return to Earth. I cannot forget my Mother, Mertseger. I cannot forget what I am, nor those that led me to be _who_ I am. But another part of me thinks that it wouldn't be such a bad thing, to start over here."

"Perhaps it would not," Gandalf agreed.

"After all," she gave a small, ironic smile, "What is one more war in a life that has not seen a single generation without them?"

Gandalf didn't know quite what to say to that.

_xxxx_

Gandalf assigned Aragorn and his twin brothers separate missions—the twins were to head to Murkwood, where there was another Elven settlement, and bring news of a Council being called. Other Elves were sent out to each of the 'Free Kingdoms of Middle Earth'. Aragorn, though, was being sent to Bree, a small village, to meet several 'Hobbits'—whatever those were—in case Gandalf would not be able to make his promised meeting.

Gandalf was heading out to meet with Sauruman, the head of his Order.

Sa't refused to be left out, stating that she was going with Aragorn, in no way asking permission.

Aragorn hid a smile at the memory—the tiny Immortal staring down beings even older than she was with calm, decisive determination. Gandalf and Elrond had not been able to change her mind, and in two days they were heading out, horseless in need of anonymous passing.

_xxxx_

Bree was a fairly clean little town, considering the era, Sa't noticed. She also noticed that Aragorn wasn't particularly well received, though he wasn't openly shunned either. More that people were wary of him—afraid almost.

"I am known as Strider in these parts," Aragorn explained. "Rangers are known to these people, and they know we are dangerous folk. They do not seem to realize our purpose is to protect them."

"Hm," Sa't eyed the curious gazes she was getting and _twisted_ her Quickening about her. 'Harmless and not worth noticing', she projected. It was much easier than 'I'm not here, you don't see anything'.

Aragorn started and gave a double-take, then shook his head with a slight smile as he recognized what she was doing. "Come, we are here."

_xxxx_

Days passed before the group they were waiting for arrived, two greater than they had expected, wet from pouring rain, harried, frightened, and relieved at percived safe haven.

Strider—and she had to remember to call him that, here—had told her what would be hunting them, and they did not seem nearly frightened _enough._ To believe they were safe because of the town's walls and an inn's roof was… naive.

But understandable, all things considered. They were from a small, peaceful place, with no true knowledge of the darker sides of their world.

Then one of them, mildly drunk, started saying too much. Sa't saw Strider tense out of the corner of her eye—then another of the little people went to stop the speaker, fell back—and vanished to sight.

It was as though another Immortal had just walked into the room, an explosion of _buzz_ in her head, and she could track it to his location far more easily than she had ever done with an actual Immortal.

She gestured quickly to the table she sensed him nearing and Strider _moved._

Sa't followed.

_xxxx_

"Strider," Sa't scolded as the angry Ranger was overly rough with the little one. "I understand that you want him scared, but do you really want him scared _of you?_"

Strider visibly calmed himself, "No. You are right," he smiled wryly, "as usual, sister."

Sa't blinked in surprise at the unexpected form of address, but decided to discuss it later.

She barely had time to register the sound of footsteps on the stairs before the other three of the little people—Hobbits—came bursting in the door, fists and candlestick raised.

Strider had a sword out and ready before the door finished bouncing off the wall, spinning to face the unexpected intruders.

"Let 'im go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

Strider rolled his eyes slightly as he sheathed the worn blade, "You have a stout heart, but that will not save you."

"He's right on that much," Sa't agreed dryly. "Bravery, while commendable, is not enough. What you need is _help._"

The four Hobbits exchanged glances before the first—Frodo, if she remembered correctly—spoke. "What do you know?"

_xxxx_


End file.
